Frozen
by Ciel In A Dress
Summary: Sakura was ill, dying, and Syaoran wouldn't leave her side.


**A/N: This idea came to me while listening to "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin. It's not based on it, but rather inspired. So, yeah. Enjoy it and stuff.**

**Frozen  
**

"I'm cold…" she whispered, her voice lacking any strength. But he still heard her, sitting as close to her as was possible. She saw him shudder at her words, through her half-closed eyes. Her limbs were numb with the cold, but she still felt his hands gripping her own tightly. The world around her was dark; the only real thing was him. She felt his body next to hers, both of them sitting upright in the single bed.

"I know," he finally answered, sucking in great gasps of air as his body shook with sobs. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, his face streaked with the tears of the past few hours. He knew there was nothing he could do, but that didn't stop him from rubbing her hands and arms in an effort to warm her up. Again, it had no effect. She was too far gone.

"I love you!" he reminded her, feeling as though his whole world was falling apart. He looked into her eyes and tried to smile for her. Just once. He didn't want her last memory of him to be of him crying. But no matter how deep he searched within himself, there was nothing beyond the sorrow. There was no honesty in his smile; it was the manual movement of a few muscles, nothing more.

"I love you," he repeated slightly desperately, letting her hands go and instead bringing her to him in a hug. He didn't want to forget what it felt like to hold her in his arms.

"I love you, too…" she muttered, her lips brushing against his ear as she spoke. "But why are you saying that now…? And why…are you trembling?" She could feel his body shaking beside her. "Are you cold, too?" she asked innocently and slowly, feeling so exhausted after simply saying a few words.

Her eyes drifted in and out of focus. Her ignorance of the situation set him off crying again. He held her tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. His body shook and his heart felt like it was shattering with each movement of his body. He clutched her close for a full minute before he pulled himself together enough to answer her.

"Y—yes. I'm cold. Very cold," he lied. It was really quite warm in the room, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that. She probably had just enough of her consciousness left to be able to understand the reason for the chill if given the information to trigger the thoughts.

She was tucked up under many layers of blankets, snuggled so deeply in the rugs, and yet she was cold. His tears continued unbroken, and he was almost glad that she couldn't focus on his face enough to notice them.

A nurse came into the room and asked if he really wanted to stay with the girl all night. He could tell she was worried what his mental state would be like after watching the sick girl fade away. He sent the nurse away; there was no way he would leave his lover's side on this night. He would lie with her until the time when they would be forced by stronger forces to part. He simply refused to let go of her.

She patted his head absent-mindedly, barely lifting her hand, then spoke: "We must be in…a cold place." Her breathing was shallow, he noticed, as close to her as he was. He nodded slowly, pulling the blankets back up to her shoulders as they had begun to slip down.

He stared at her, wondering how such a beautiful face could become so dishevelled in such a short amount of time. Her condition had deteriorated quickly, unexpectedly. He remembered clearly the day he'd taken her to the doctor and gotten the final verdict on her health; been told that she didn't have long left in this world.

The tears started up again, and he hid his face in shame, burying it in the space next to her neck, even though he knew that she couldn't know he was crying. She ran a hand along his hair, gently tugging at the ends, as always. He could see the effort she had to put in to perform this simple task.

"You're all wet…" she noted quietly, continuing to stroke his hair but feeling his tears on the side of her face.

"Is it raining?" she asked. "Outside, I mean." She spoke slowly, precisely. She wasn't sure what was happening to her, but, strangely, she was unable to really concentrate on it.

"Yes. Rain," he lied to her again. He felt guilty, making up these things to deliberately mislead her. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was really better to lie to her and let her be happy in her final moments. Or would it have been better to let her be aware of her condition so she would understand how the people around her were feeling? Again, Syaoran reminded himself that he'd already decided on the former.

Her brother had been kind enough to let Syaoran make the choices concerning her wellbeing. He'd decided that it was better for her to be conscious yet numb in her final days, rather than living longer unconscious. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. That, and it would've only been more painful for the people waiting for her to be gone, cut off too soon from the waking world.

He pulled back from her weak grasp to look at her again. Her skin was pale and her once-beautiful green eyes had lost their glow. He softly brushed her hair out of her face, running his fingers through it to try and neaten it. He could feel that her skin was still very cold.

A nurse came in to check on them then, pausing for a moment to feel for the young couple, forced to part long before their time. They looked so peaceful together, despite the knowledge that she wouldn't be around for much longer. In fact, the nurse doubted if the girl even had an hour left to her.

"Syaoran," the nurse said after checking his name on the records. "It's very warm in here. Are you sure—?"

"Yes," he interrupted sternly. "She's so cold," he continued sadly, wiping his face in a feeble attempt to clear the tears. "No matter how high we turn the heat up, she'll stay like this, won't she?" Syaoran turned away from the dazed girl in the bed so that she wouldn't hear him.

The nurse nodded, her face grim. "I'm afraid I can't turn it up any more. Also…" She hesitated, unsure if she should tell him. Steeling herself, she said sympathetically, "Your girl won't last the hour."

Syaoran had spent the night expecting the moment to come when he would be told she was about to go, but that didn't make it any less painful to hear the cold truth.

He sent the nurse away and cried. A while passed before he realised there was no point. No amount of begging would keep her there. It was also then that he realised that the best thing for her was to spend the little time they had left reminding her that he loved her.

He rubbed her arms, attempting to keep her temperature from falling further. He kissed her lips, trying to transfer his heat to her. Of course, still nothing worked. She kissed him back, familiar with the feelings he brought her. She was confused, however, as there was another feeling she was aware of. It was creeping up on her, preparing to pounce. She wanted to tell Syaoran about it, but he was fiercely kissing her, only allowing her time to breathe.

It was as wonderful as always for her, despite the wintry chill. But she felt different.

Numb.

Frozen.

That feeling that was creeping chose that moment to pounce, and she realised what it was. She wasn't afraid, and she didn't panic. She found that she could no longer move, and Syaoran pulled away from her fearfully.

"I love you," she said firmly, using the last of her strength to turn to face him, fearing only that she would fade into darkness without the vision of him to guide her. Finally catching sight of him through the fog in her eyes, a single tear rolled down her cheek, before her eyes closed and they were separated by the difference between life and death.

The disease ran in Sakura's family, and like her mother before her, she died young.

Syaoran had already cried all the tears he was capable of, and he couldn't distract himself from the pain of losing her. He didn't outlive her by longer than a day.


End file.
